


Stolen Kisses

by Familiae



Series: It's just a matter of falling apart [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Familiae/pseuds/Familiae
Summary: Extras





	1. Chapter 1

The alleyway smelled of cigarette smoke, wet dog, and the faint stench of decomposing food from the garbage can four meters away. It was one of those suspiciously dank and moist places where a wrong step had your shoe sinking in a thick goo of things one would rather not consider. Trashcans and wrappers littered the mouth of the alleyway and even the occasional box of condoms or even a used one lay, discarded on the ground.

The youth that picked his way carefully between the trash and puddles of brown water seemed practiced in his movements. He dodged the worst of the debris with barely a glance to the ground beneath his feet, keeping his head down, but his sharp brown eyes were attentive—scanning his surroundings, the buildings around him, the ones across the street, with the efficiency of a hawk (whether hunting for prey or watching out for potential predators would have been impossible to tell). He was at home here, with the faint stink of trash and the dank dark places where a single step could easily obscure him in shadows. He was used to being always attentive and always cautious where his feet carried him, and today was no different.

When he emerged from the alleyway, he stopped, looking around himself through a mop of brown hair that fell over his eyes. A hand lifted to tug at his hoodie almost instinctually, before he set to walking, following the sidewalk and keeping his pace slow and confident. A few meters away the line of buildings stopped to give way to an open space—a ledge stood in front of the mouth of a wide-spaced alleyway. Unlike the one the youth had come from, this one was relatively clean—only one or two stray wrappers of chips and candy were strewn on the ground. Trashcans weren’t shoved against the walls of this one, and no thick puddles of sludge rested on the dips and crevices of the cement.

Without so much as a pause, he stopped before the alleyway, lowering himself so he could lean on the ledge and take the weight off his legs.

The spot he chose had the advantage of visibility. From where he sat he could clearly see where the side street broke off and merged with the main one—the crowds of people that pulsed and surged within the busier districts, and the buzz of their voices. Where he was, he could see them, but was not disturbed by their noises, nor bothered by their presence.

Looking down the opposite way of the street, he could see the light of the setting sun filtering through the buildings, the rays piercing the little street with a faint light. From over there only apartment buildings and homes lay. Sometimes he could hear the distant barking of a dog, or a sudden rise of voices that he assumed would be screaming or yelling.

When night fell, the alleyway was obscured mostly in darkness. Across the street, to his left hand, a streetlight would flicker on and illuminate the street more than enough so he could see anyone that could come from there, but the light would blind them so they could not see him. It had often proved useful when trying to evade any shady characters.

To his right, the conjoining street always kept a steady crowd of people and thus, buildings, with enough illumination to allow him to see anyone that came from that direction. The sporting of bars and nightclubs tended to keep their lights and neon billboards on well into the night, so the youth could rest easily knowing that, no matter how dark, he always had _some_ visibility assured well into the early hours of the morning.

There he would wait, as he always did, as habit dictated, until his purpose to the night was fulfilled or his weariness overcame his stubbornness. Hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, he waited, keeping his eyes downcast—mostly to his shoes, and the cursory glance about himself to make sure no one was approaching without his knowing—his shoulders and jaw set in a way that had most potential threats decide he was better off left alone.

If his eyes were attentive, his ears even more so—tuned to automatically lock in to any sound and identify it as friend or foe before being dismissed. This one had no delusions of ever spending an easy night. Not because it was often not (in fact, rarely was the time were he was ever forced to either defend himself or flee before trouble started), but because the thought that something _could _happen, and the moment that he did, he could be off-guard always had him on his toes. Yes, sometimes his thoughts wandered—to both pleasant and undesired bitter places—but always, when he noticed, he forced himself to focus, to concentrate, because _today_ could be the day he could regret.

And thus, he waited. With the same slowly degrading patience that he always carried upon his shoulders, he waited. And he would continue waiting, watchful and silent, almost in vigil at the lonely alleyway to the right of a crowded street of a city better left unnamed.

He heard the man before the man had any hope to see him from his perch on the mouth of the alleyway.

This man was a tall and lean fellow. Fresh out of work from the look of his outfit—a white button down shirt shoved into grey pleated pants, a blue tie around his throat, and a suitcase clutched in his fist. His hair had been obsessively combed back into neatness, kept away from his eyes by fingers when the comb started to fail. Overall, he was unimpressive. A man your gaze would skim over and dismiss as soon as the fact that he was there registered. But still, there was something about him that put the youth on guard.

It took a moment to figure out what bothered him—throughout it all, the young man’s thoughts bounced in his skull. Without moving from his ledge or lifting his head, his eyes followed the path of the stranger through his peripheral vision, eyes narrowed, keeping his breathing slow and even. The realization came suddenly, without any real lead or consequence. It was the way the man walked. Something about his pace and movements were jittery and nervous. They betrayed a line of muddled thoughts that set the youth on edge. Immediately he was on guard, trying not to betray his own nervousness with any false movements.

Now that the youth had identified what bothered him, he could see it more clearly in the man’s body language. This man looked almost wildly around himself—eyes bouncing without any real pattern from the buildings to the ground. He clutched the suitcase before him as if it was a shield that could defend him from any dark creatures that descended on him. His eyes were wide and open, his jaw clenched.

And he was heading straight for the youth’s direction.

Whether he had been seen yet or not, the young man couldn’t tell. He knew, that if he desired, he could melt into the darkness and disappear into the crowd without so much as a whisper left behind, but he was also bound to stay where he sat. This was what he lived for—the careful balance of observation and assumptions that led him to either remain or leave. One wrong move and it could cost him his night.

He decided to stay. To find out what this man wanted and what made him so nervous as he wandered down the street the youth almost considered his own. To see with his own eyes and hear with his own ears what reasons a well to-do working middle class man with the vigor of youth still on his shoulders and the line of his back wanted with the dark lonely street.

When the man was close enough that the youth could hear the scuffle of his shoes on the pavement, and only then, was when the young man lifted his head. From this distance he could see that the man pointedly refused to look directly at him, and that the clutch in his suitcase was so violent that the knuckles stood out, his skin pale over the bones, against his hands.

The youth resumed waiting, leaning back on the ledge so he sat straighter, his eyes trained on the approaching man.

When his gaze was felt and noticed, the stranger looked startled. He lifted his suitcase almost defensively towards his chest, despite the fact that he was both taller, broader, and that the young man had barely blinked. His footsteps slowed, and he approached with a crawling cautiousness that was almost amusing to see. He stopped barely a meter away from the youth, giving him distance, as if the young man would stretch out his hand and pounce. The stranger stayed there, trembling and silent, for what seemed like endless minutes, but was more akin to a few seconds, before he dared move—a hand lifted to smooth his hair back from his eyes despite the fact that there were barely any strands there to sweep away.

“Are you Markus?” his voice was soft and shy.


	2. Chapter 2

The young man hesitated. Brown eyes searching the stranger’s bleached grey ones for any signs—anything at all—that this was to be a mistake. He could only see apprehension and nerves blossoming behind those odd eyes. Once satisfied that there was nothing to hide, he nodded.

“Ah, um, good afternoon there, Markus. My, uh, name is Lukas, I, uh, heard about you from a friend?”

The young man—Markus—nodded, a sign that Lukas words were acknowledged and that he should continue on with his tremulous explanation.

“His name is Anton—h-he said I could come talk to you…”

A single eyebrow was lifted in response. Markus hovered over the indecision to help the struggling man or allow him to crawl through, oblivious of the stumbles he gave.

“I, uh, mean, _well_,” Lukas tittered, a single finger slid between his throat and the tie and tugged at it, “he said you could help me wind down after work, and that I wouldn’t regret it...”

When Markus didn’t immediately come to the man’s rescue, he resumed speaking, stumbling over his own words in a rush to get them out. “I, uh, he said you were reliable and, _y’know_, careful and knew what you were doing. H-he said you were the person to come to...”

Another nod, “Right.”

“I don’t mean... like I’m not a cop or anything, y’know, I just...”

“Can’t speak?” Markus suggested, detaching himself from the ledge to stand before Lukas, the difference in height forcing him to crane his head back to be able to look at those startling eyes.

At least Lukas had the grace to blush. “Well, yeah. Sorry about that, I’ve never really done this type of thing before...”

Markus nodded before the subject could get any longer, now eager to evacuate the area. He did not like to linger once he had found himself with a customer, because when one came, another was sure to follow. It wouldn’t have been the first time an argument had developed over whose turn it was to feel his flesh under their weight. No, he had no desire to be forced to break up a fight over himself, of all things.

Lukas had no such sense of urgency. In his mind, Markus was already his, and nothing would sway him otherwise. Where Markus’ movements and words were brusque and swift, curt at best, Lukas’ own words were soft and gentle. Actions seemed to only encourage him to grow bolder and more patient, to the point where he stepped forward, his eyes openly roaming Markus’ form.

“You’re really attractive,” and it took no genius to figure out what the husky quality to his voice was. A hand was tentatively lifted, and hovered there, the fingers twitching, the hesitation in Lukas’ eyes growing. “May I?”

It was now Markus’ turn to hesitate. Lukas saw the trepidation in Markus’ eyes, and looked away—hurt etched into the features of his face—another hesitation, and Markus covered Lukas’ own hand in his, nudging it towards his face, a clear invitation to do as the older man desired. Surprised, Lukas looked up almost smiling at Markus then. His hand pressed lightly against the skin of Markus’ face, a thumb stroking the skin under the eye. He leaned forward, eager yet cautious, allowing Markus the chance to shy away if he so desired. When Markus stayed, Lukas pressed his lips against Markus’—little more than a peck, but enough to make those pale eyes glitter.

As soon as their lips parted, Markus stepped away from Lukas’ grasp, his eyes warning the older man to stay where he was. “We should go.”

Lukas seemed to finally understand the need for movement. He looked around with eyes wide open, his mouth pulled in a small ‘o’ of surprise. When it became obvious that no one else was in the area, he visibly relaxed. “No one saw that, right?”

Markus turned around, walking around the ledge to the mouth of the alleyway. His response was thrown over his shoulder without so much as a look back: “No.”

“Good,” Lukas called after his back, seemed to notice that Markus was leaving him, and rushed after him, tripping over a can in his hurry to walk to Markus’ side. He yelped in surprise, but caught himself with the far wall, nails digging into the cement of the building, before he could fall.

When Markus turned around to see what the sounds were all about, he saw Lukas, a hand slowly turning an angry red where the friction had hurt it, and a suitcase clutched in the other hand—a hand that trembled. Lukas felt Markus’ eyes on him and lifted his head, flashing a crooked sheepish smile—cheeks bright red.  
  
“I, ah, sorry,” _why are you apologizing?_ Markus wondered, but refrained from giving voice to his thoughts, letting Lukas carry on, “I’m just—I, ah, meant to say. I hope you don’t mind, but I got us a room down at the Motel 6. Do you know where it’s at? It’s just—well, we don’t have to go if you don’t want, but I was hoping we could, ah, spend a night there? But if you have a better idea we could do that—”  
  
“That works fine.”  
  
“Oh, good. I was thinking you could, ah, take the elevator to get to the room and wait for me there—I’d give you the key, of course, and I could take the stairs so they don’t, y’know, see us go up together?”  
  
“You don’t have to take the stairs.”  
  
“Oh, no. Trust me—I do. I’m, ah, a touch claustrophobic, you see. I don’t, ah, really like elevators.”  
  
There was a moment of silence as Markus registered what he was being told before he nodded.  
  
Lukas grinned, relieved. He now took careful steps, but seemed eager—his movements jerky and twitchy, but instead of uneasy, and there was a silly grin plastered to his features. From the way he stretched his hand forward, he seemed to want to curl his fingers around Markus’ own. He grasped nothing but air, however, and Markus quickly added to the distance between them. For a moment, Lukas looked hurt, but a firm shake of his head wiped the expression from his face. They couldn’t be seen together, Markus hoped he was telling himself. He wasn’t there to educate a grown man of the why’s of their own city.  
  
The alleyway opened up to another quiet street that led nowhere in particular. From somewhere above their heads, a short dog with a high-pitched bark let its outrage be heard, but besides that and a few birds fluttering amongst the rooftops, the area seemed to be deserted.  
  
The older man mostly kept to himself then. His eyes were wide and searching—curious about his surroundings more than anything. On occasions, his steps would slow as something captured his attention, but once he noticed he would hurry his pace, desperate to catch up to Markus, wary of being left to his own devices in streets that appeared solitary, ones Markus clearly had the upper hand in navigating.  
  
He stopped when Markus stopped. Breathed when Markus breathed. Looked around when Markus looked around (despite the fact that he had no hope of finding whatever miniscule detail had caught the younger man’s attention). In this way, they finally emerged to another street, one with stragglers trickling by—couples holding hands and friends giggling amongst themselves.  
  
A streetlight flooded the area before the alleyway with bright unnatural light. Moths had already gathered around the bulb, and buzzed around it in hopes of sharing its warmth. Businessmen with tired faces and weary footsteps hurried to catch the closest train and make their way back home. Not as many now, but from what Lukas and Markus could see, it seemed as if the last of the floods of office workers were scrambling their way back home.  
  
Across the street lay a park—wide open space and green trees sprouting from the ground. A jogger made his or her rounds (impossible to tell because of the distance). Another person walked a huge shaggy dog.  
  
Markus turned away from the sight and continued walking. Lukas didn’t linger either, he hurried after Markus—his gaze turned to his feet, his shoulders stiff with tension. There had been a subdued sense of safety in the alleyway that had comforted him, even in the buildings surrounding it. None of that could be found here. Here there were only people who could whisper “Oh, yes, I saw him with a very young man, very close they seemed to be…”  
  
“Do we really want to go that way?” his voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.  
  
“More likely to be dismissed in a crowd,” was the only explanation Markus would give as he emerged into one of the busier streets—a sign across the street declared in shining letters “Jomy’s Bar!” The sound of the crowd was deafening. Lukas ducked his head and tried his best to follow Markus’ back as he merged into the crowd.


	3. Chapter 3

The motel was as crowded as Markus had feared.  
  
During the weekend, the rooms would swell considerably, revealing both the rare out-of-season tourists, the crowds hungering for the casinos and bars, and the tricks and whores sneaking in either bright flashy smiles or careful glances around themselves. A boy (for he could have been nothing more than a boy) with a pretty face and huge round green eyes giggled at the whispered words of an older man just a little ways from where Markus stood. What the exact words were, Markus couldn’t tell—swallowed by the cacophony of the crowd as they were—but he had a pretty good idea of the type of dialogue they could be having. As he watched, the boy’s fingers slipped between the band of the older man’s jeans, and giggled at the grin he was flashed.  
  
“I bet if we did that we’d find our asses resting in a nice jail cell.”  
  
Markus turned his head to see—unsurprisingly—that Lukas had wriggled his way back to Markus’ side. He still had his suitcase, but his hair looked just a tad more disheveled from battling his way through the crowd, and his eyes were wide and glittering. Perhaps even more important was the fact that he now clutched a single silver key, tangled around his wrist.  
  
When Markus didn’t immediately reply, Lukas gestured with a flick of his eyes towards the boy-whore and his catch. The hand had slipped out from his pants, but he still giggled brightly, leaning towards the other man to whisper something in his ear.  
  
“Jealous?” Markus’ words were soft.  
  
Lukas blushed. “Ah, not really. You’re nicer to look at,” this one seemed to never let the chance to tag in a compliment slide, “besides, he looks thirteen.”  
  
Markus shook his head in response, trying to bite back the comment that rose to his tongue. Instead he cleared his throat, turning towards Lukas to speak. “I should be heading up.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Right,” Lukas’ nerves has eased as they had walked their way to the motel, to the point where he now chatted amiably with Markus about nothing in particular—his job mostly, and a snarky comment or two directed at the general crowd. It was nothing Markus couldn’t bat away with a noncommittal word or nod, maybe even a phrase of his own. If anything, he was grateful that Lukas seemed to sense that the younger man had little love for talk, and, in turn, filled the silence with little words and tales, trying to keep the subject light and open for Markus’ benefit. “It’s room 302—to the right of the elevator, down another right hallway, and it should be right there.”  
  
Markus nodded, grasping the key that was dangled before his eyes. Without a glance back, he walked out of the alleyway, turned to his right and closed the distance between the hotel’s front doors and himself as a slow, leisurely pace. Nothing more than a customer coming back after a long day to change clothes and shower, perhaps even go out again to enjoy the night life.  
  
The doors opened to a simply decorated lobby—the furniture was clean cut and glossy. Orange and white were the predominant color schemes. The receptionist chimed a welcome as Markus passed, and he offered her a small nod in answer, but did not linger. The lobby had a small huddle of stragglers that crowded the corner—friends, perhaps, chattering amongst themselves before they left. They spoke in loud lilting voices of a language Markus didn’t recognize, nor cared to.  
  
The elevator was located with relative ease, and as soon as Markus spotted it, he hurried his footsteps, wary to get the task done over with quickly—there was no telling when Lukas might get impatient, and he’d rather not risk an encounter. The older man was likely to blush as bright as a schoolgirl and offer breathless giggles when he saw Markus.  
  
He encountered no one on the elevator. As he stepped outside on the corresponding floor, he heard the sounds of a television being played, but no one seemed to be wandering the hallways. Following Lukas’ directions, he turned a right, then another right, slowing down his steps and roaming the numbers of the doors, trying not to betray the fact that he didn’t know where he was. The number presented itself soon enough, however, and Markus gingerly fished out the key from a pocket, and opened the door.  
  
The room was larger than Markus has expected. Three walls were painted white with the remainder being the same bright orange of the lobby. The floors were hardwood and, from where he stood, he could see a few faint scratches, but nothing more. The bed was of contemporary fashion, shoved against the bright orange wall with a wooden night stand next to it, light fixtures fixed to the wall on top of it, and beige-and-orange sheets with plush white pillows. Opposite from the bed, fixed to the wall, was a flat screen TV, under that a wardrobe, a round leather chair to its left, and a table with plastic chairs to its right. On the wall between the bed and the TV were the windows with bright orange curtains that had been pulled closed and a mirror.  
  
Markus pulled the door closed behind him, leaving it unlocked for Lukas’ benefit before walking into the room. A more careful glance revealed that the remote control for the TV seemed to be nowhere in sight. The bed, despite being made, had creases on its side where he assumed Lukas had sat, if only briefly.  
  
With no better idea of what to do save wait, Markus peeled off his hoodie, letting it down on the table, draped over a corner. Curiosity and a slight sense of impatience derived from uneasiness drove him to walk and briefly search the room. Nothing suspicious revealed itself, but when he opened the second drawer of the wardrobe he did find the remote for the TV. A good thing to keep in mind, but he left it where he found it, and continued his search.  
  
A knock on the door made him look up, startled, from the window. Hesitantly, expecting Lukas, but fully aware it could be a maid (or anyone really), he walked towards the door; slowly turning the knob and cracking it open the merest of inches.

Lukas pale eyes met his, and he flashed a sheepish smile when he saw Markus standing at the door.  
  
There was an awkward hurried shuffle on the door as Lukas walked in, and Markus tried to duck from sight. The older man shut the door firmly behind himself. Once it was closed he turned towards Markus with a goofy grin plastered on his face. “We made it.”  
  
Markus nodded, studying Lukas with a cursory glance. The older man felt Markus’ eyes on him and shifted uncomfortably, turning away from Markus to let his suitcase rest on the table and hide the sudden rise of nerves. He hesitated there, taking deep careful breaths and gathering his courage before he turned back to Markus.  
  
“Well, here we are,” he said, meeting Markus’ gaze, fingers once more tugging at the neck of his tie. When Markus didn’t immediately reply, he drew closer still, his eyes growing hungry, drinking in Markus’ form with blatant openness. “May I?” he said when he was close enough to touch Markus, a hand hovering over the hem of Markus’ shirt, eyes wide and glittering.  
  
“Go ahead,” Markus spoke merely for the sake of avoiding misunderstandings—he did not want Lukas to look at him again with that kicked puppy look that made him wish he had swallowed his words.  
  
So Lukas did. His movements were slow and shy at first—fingers skimming the flesh of Markus’ navel, before slowly pushing the shirt up, waiting patiently as Markus wiggled out of the shirt and disentangled it from his elbows. Lukas let it drop to the floor, and turned to Markus with the ghost of a smile on his lips. When Markus did not shy away from his touch, Lukas turned bolder, pressing his lips against the base of Markus’ throat, mumbling something against the sensitive skin that Markus didn’t quite catch. His hands wrapped around the small of Markus’ back and pulled him closer, the lips trailing upwards along Markus’ neck, to leave a kiss at his jaw. Lukas seemed to remember Markus’ reaction to the earlier kiss almost belatedly, for a moment his face hung a breath away from Markus’ lips as he hovered over indecision, feeling the tingle of Markus’ warm breath. Lukas turned to Markus’ jaw line once more when he saw the apprehension grow in the younger man’s eyes, his arms wrapping around Markus to hold him closer.  
  
Eventually, Lukas’ impatience grew, and he tugged at Markus’ hips, gently coaching him towards the general area of the bed. When the back of Lukas’ legs brushed against the bed sheets, he sat, a hand tugging at the belt loops of Markus’ jeans to encourage him to straddle Lukas in the same movement.  
  
Markus set his knees against either side of Lukas, using the older man’s shoulders for support, which Lukas seemed to enjoy—flashing a grin at Markus, mumbling something along the lines of approval. With bright glittering eyes he set to ravage Markus’ skin once more, this time trailing open mouthed kisses and licks along Markus’ collarbone, and daring to go lower still—forcing Markus to arch his back so he could nibble on a nipple, licking and pressing his teeth until the skin was pink, then turning his attention to the other.  
  
A groan passed Markus’ lips as Lukas’ attention turned more insistent. His hands had hooked around the waistband of Markus’ jeans and pressed him down on the older man’s groin. Markus’ grip on Lukas’ shoulders tightened, and he moved when Lukas encouraged it, rubbing the front of their jeans together until the friction had their breathing pick up and deepen.  
  
When Lukas’ kisses headed upwards, Markus stopped him with a hand to his chest. Gently, he pushed Lukas back just enough so his fingers could grasp at the knot of his tie. His movements were deft and quick, untying the knot and sliding it free from Lukas’ throat without fumbles or hesitations, allowing it to drop to the floor next to the bed. The older man seemed to have been surprised into inaction by Markus’ sudden proactive approach, and sat there, watching Markus with growing fascination, the rocking movements of their bodies and the tingling friction momentarily forgotten.  
  
As Markus’ fingers turned back to the buttons of the shirt, Lukas seemed to regain his senses. Suddenly Markus was lying flat on the bed, fingers grasping nothing but air, breath knocked from his lungs, and Lukas weight pressing against his hips. The older man was murmuring something against his skin, the string of words too low for Markus to make out what exactly was being said (the words “cute,” “sexy,” and “need” were mentioned more than once, but the exact context lost—not that Markus didn’t have a good idea of what Lukas meant). His lips were working against Markus’ skin with a newfound sense of urgency, licking and nibbling until Markus was trying not to writhe under the assault, rubbing the front of their jeans together in a tantalizing rhythm that did not help Markus’ concentration.  
  
The kisses trailed lower, and Markus bit his lip not to groan, fingers tangling on the bed sheets, tilting his head back and screwing his eyes shut. Part of him expected Lukas to linger at his navel, and rise upwards, taking the same route he had traced in his descent, the other part of him fully expected to feel the hands fumbling at the button of his jeans, and to feel the warm breath tickling his skin, the fingers grasping his hips, trying to slide the pants lower. Then there was moist breath at his—  
  
His reaction was immediate. The hands wrapped around Lukas’ skull tightened, fingers tangling in the dark hair, before giving the head a firm yank upwards, trying to physically deter him from his current goal. “No,” the word was a hiss.  
  
Lukas looked up—eyes wide. The sheer confusion written on his face was almost laughable, but Markus’ lips didn’t so much as twitch at the thought.  
  
“Don’t,” Markus repeated slowly, his fingers slowly disentangling from Lukas’ hair to allow the older man to pull back.  
  
Still confused, Lukas drew back, eyeing Markus carefully. “Did I hurt you...?” it was evident from his tone of voice that he thought that either highly unlikely or highly unusual, but quite open to any possible explanations—innocently puzzled.  
  
“Just. Don’t. No mouth, OK?”  
  
Lukas nodded, his lips dropping back to Markus’ skin, pressing lightly against the base of his throat. “Okay.”  
  
There was a tense moment in which Markus didn’t react, his eyes fixed to the ceiling over his head, his fingers curling and uncurling around the bed sheets before he sighed. His fingers loosened and he looked down to see Lukas resting his cheek against Markus’ chest, lying completely still, elbows on either side of Markus to keep his weight off the shorter man. He studied Markus with the tension of someone ready to jump at the last possible moment. The thought made Markus look away.  
  
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  
  
“It’s alright.”  
  
Despite his words Markus didn’t immediately move. The seconds trickled by while Lukas seemed to shrink in on himself, as if expecting Markus to lash out. When Markus didn’t move, Lukas’ unease grew. So he lay there, trying to drink in Markus’ warm skin before his little fantasy stood up and left—because what other choice did he have?  
  
“Are we napping then?”  
  
Lukas hesitated, “You’re staying?”  
  
“You got us a room and everything, right?”  
  
“I—” a smile threatened to break through his lips then, “I suppose I did.”  
  
Markus’ fingers twitched and regained their purpose at Lukas’ response—smoothing Lukas’ hair away from his face. His hands shifted their hold to his shoulder, nudging it back so Lukas moved, allowing Markus enough freedom to wiggle downwards, so that his face was level with Lukas. Carefully, slowly, almost fearful of Lukas’ reaction, he pressed his lips against Lukas’ cheek, rubbing slow circles on the back of his head with his free hand. He expected Lukas’ reaction this time, so he did not shy away when the older man recovered from his sudden shock by pressing his own lips against Markus’. He did not linger, however, but split the kiss and ducked to nuzzle Markus’ throat, his pleasure evident in every movement, practically purring.  
  
With his hands freed, Markus set to his previous task of undoing the buttons of Lukas’ shirt. This time Lukas did not protest, instead he sucked at the skin of his neck and shoulders, hips grinding against Markus’ own, and murmured sweet nothings at Markus’ ear. When Markus started to fumble at the buttons, the position he was pinned at making it awkward to undo them, Lukas shifted, moving to his side so Markus had easier access to the front of the shirt.  
  
Once the clothing was out of the way, Markus ran his hands down Lukas’ smooth chest, biting back a smirk when Lukas shivered under his touch. When the older man didn’t protest, Markus lowered himself to Lukas’ chest, licking and kissing the skin at the base of his throat, and trailing lower still, trying to keep the same easy tempo Lukas had with their grinding jeans.  
  
Lukas groaned something in his ear, and his hand reached for the front of Markus’ jeans, rubbing experimentally before slipping his hands to undo the button, pausing in his fumbles just long enough to tilt his head so he could nibble at Markus’ ear lobe.  
  
He did not bother slipping Markus’ pants around his ankles, simply pushed the jeans lower over Markus’ hips, and wrapped his hand around Markus’ hardening member, slowly pumping and tugging along its length.  
  
The groans and soft moans Markus allowed to slip from his lips were more for Lukas’ benefit than his own. He did not care for repeating the previous scene—though some genuine emotion might have slipped in-between as Lukas’ touch became just a tad rougher, faster, better. Lukas moved to rest his head under Markus’ chin—his breathing fast and labored—and Markus held on to Lukas’ shoulders, nails digging lightly into the skin there.  
  
Only when Markus’ breathing picked up so one breath melded into the other to the rhythm of Lukas’ pumping hand, and only then, was when Lukas finally stopped. He released Markus’s cock—moving so one arm wrapped around Markus’ back to hold him closer, nibbling and biting at Markus’ collarbone, and the other desperately fumbling at the button of his own jeans; trying to press Markus tighter against him, trying to do too much at once.  
  
Markus placed a hand against Lukas’ chest, gently nudging him back, and splitting their bodies just enough so his own hands had enough room to snake down the front of Lukas’ jeans and undo the buttons. Lukas did not make the job easier—in his eagerness he pressed more against Markus, making the younger man’s fingers slip. A small growl of protest, and Lukas reluctantly loosened his hold, allowing Markus’ fingers to find their hold and rid Lukas’ of his jeans, his cock springing to life. Still eager, Lukas pressed against Markus, trying to rub his throbbing member against any part of Markus he could score, his hot breath at Markus’ ear. Again, Markus was forced to nudge Lukas away; just enough so he could slip Lukas’ jeans lower over his hips, before Lukas was trying to press into him once more.  
  
When his fingers brushed against Lukas’ cock, the older man moaned in his ear, digging his teeth into the flesh of Markus’ shoulder to stop the sudden tide of little sounds that slipped from his vocal chords. Encouraged, Markus wrapped his fingers around Lukas’ length, sliding his fingers slowly down and up at a maddening slow pace that forced Lukas to buck against his grip to get more of that sweet tingling friction he so desired.  
  
More words were moaned against his ear, but Markus, for the most part, ignored them, pressing his lips against Lukas’ throat when the man’s words turned too incoherent, but even then, desisted from speaking. Lukas’ arms wrapped around Markus, trying to hold him closer, trying to get the most out of those warm hands and soft lips—hips thrusting into Markus’ fist.  
  
When the moans picked up in pitch, Markus suddenly released Lukas before he could reach his climax, letting the older man recover his breath as Markus kicked his jeans off. Once free from them, he fished towards his back pockets, holding their contents in his hand—  
  
“You certainly come prepared, huh,” said Lukas, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Markus once more, dragging the slighter man towards his chest.  
  
“I have to,” his answer was indifferent—a mere fact. It wasn’t rare to see a trick smirking down at him with a little “Oh, it seems I forgot...” on their lips, even amongst the gentler ones. It was one of those risks Markus simply did not want to tolerate or take. So he came prepared and was adamant about it, to the point of simply standing up and walking away even it meant having lost his night in nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

“Smart and sexy, hmm?”  
  
Markus didn’t answer, instead turned to press his lips against Lukas’ jaw line, lightly pressing his teeth against his earlobe to have the man quiet down. Once Lukas did, he traced kisses across his throat, stopping to nibble at the flesh of his collarbone. Suddenly, Lukas’ hand was over his own, demanding with his eager fingers the little bottle clasped there, but ignoring everything else. Markus allowed the other man to take it from his grasp. To Lukas’ credit, he did not question Markus’ choice in lubricant, merely blinked in surprise before flashing a mischievous grin.  
  
When Markus didn’t immediately relent his current position after nudges and light pushes, Lukas groaned against his skin, realizing where the whore’s thoughts were wandering—to the condom still clenched in his fist that Lukas was reluctant to accept.  
  
Lukas shuffled aside and slipped from bed to move towards his suitcase, muttering his annoyance under his breath. Markus’ calm brown eyes watched his hasty process across the room and towards his suitcase, snapping it open with a ferocity that was surprising to witness. He fished towards the contents of it with little care of what Markus saw or didn’t see (not that there was much that caught Markus’ interest—mostly what he assumed to be work related documentation), and hurried back to Markus’ side in record time. As soon as his knee was against the bed sheets, his lips were searching for Markus’ skin.  
  
He was hastier yet in getting the necessities over with—blushing once more when he felt Markus’ eyes on him. He was hurried in his movements, and couldn’t even screw the lube’s cap open, to the point where it nearly slipped from his grasp. He flashed Markus half-embarrassed, half-mortified smiles as he went. Even managing a nervous: “Bananas is a good choice for flavor—I haven’t had them in forever,” before he realized what he said and his face grew bright pink. Markus smiled but refrained from commenting.  
  
Markus slid lower over to the bed, allowing Lukas to boost his legs even higher as the older man struggled to find a position he himself enjoyed—when it became clear he had no choice but to solely pay attention to Markus, he abandoned the task of finding something comfortable and, with a grunt, slid his sticky fingers inside, eliciting a groan from Markus’ behalf—all the incentive Lukas’ needed to wiggle and move his fingers a little faster.  
  
His eagerness made him much too hasty, to Markus’ disappointment—not that Markus gave any voice to his thoughts. When Lukas considered his job done, Markus simply watched the man crawl over him. Lukas quickly succumbed to wild instinct and let his mouth work licks and nibbles against Markus’ skin, hoisting Markus’ legs around his hips, trying to find just that right position...  
  
It did not last. Soon enough, with just a little bit more of that awkward shifting, Lukas was lifting his head from Markus’ chest, blushing bright red, a hand reaching for his aching member just before he paused in his trek and spoke.  
  
“Can I... may I—I’d like to, ah, um, take you from behind?” his eyes dropped to Markus’ chest, cheeks aflame, “It’s just... if you don’t mind, of course, I just—ah, I—”  
  
_How did he manage to turn that into a question?_ Markus held back his tongue, and refrained from commentary. Not providing Lukas with any verbal answer, he instead carefully disentangled himself from Lukas’ limbs, rolling over on his chest, and balancing his weight on his knees and elbows, lifting his ass in the air, to Lukas’ pleasure.  
  
And maybe Lukas made an indistinct little sound of excitement in the back of his throat, and Markus realized it would get harder and harder to hold back his tongue.  
  
Lukas’ fingers skimmed along Markus’ inner thigh, tracing with his fingertips what Markus hoped he’d think as an award-worthy ass with the reverence the older man seemed to be touching it. When his fingers traced the lines of Markus’ hips, the hands grasped him, holding him in place for the briefest moments as Lukas lined his hardened member with Markus’ entrance. A slight correcting of the angle, and he thrust forward, the suddenness of the movement nearly making Markus swallow the bed sheets with its momentum.  
  
“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbled low in his throat—whether he was speaking to Markus or Markus’ ass could not easily be discerned.  
  
Lukas showed no sign on noticing the slight stumble Markus gave, but instead slid fully in, keeping a maddening slow pace. Exhibiting eternal patience—he remained rooted to the spot, enjoying the feel of Markus’ ass around his cock, his hands grasping Markus with enough force to leave the imprint of his fingers on Markus’ skin—his mouth working again at senseless little compliments Markus had heard a thousand times before; mostly around the redeeming qualities of his ass. With the same slow pace, Lukas slid mostly out, then slammed back into Markus. This time Markus managed to keep his balance.  
  
Once Lukas found his rhythm, thrusting into Markus with a more frantic, breathless pace, a single hand released its hold on his hip and wrapped around Markus’ own throbbing member, trying to keep in synch with his desperate thrusts, eliciting little moans from Markus’, to the older man’s pleasure. Soon they were both rocking to the desperate rhythm Lukas had picked, the long fingers grasped around Markus’ dick, tugging at it with jerky movements, trying to keep the younger man pleased while he thrust deeper inside. The bed creaked, and Lukas’ grunted, his breath hot and moist against the back of Markus’ neck.  
  
The older man’s breathing picked up, his thrusts became desperate, quicker, sliding in and out of Markus almost savagely, his fingers unwrapping from Markus’ dick to wrap around his waist, trying to tug him closer, trying to get the most out of Markus. It was no surprise then, when Markus heard his breath hitch, a half-grunt, half-moan to sleep from his lips as he rid out his orgasm, and then the way he seemed to awkwardly almost collapse against Markus.  
  
Lukas wasn’t done, however. After a few heavy moist breaths trailing the back of Markus’ neck, his hand reached around to wrap around Markus’ still-hard dick, giving it an experimental tug, before the fingers wrapped tighter around it, pumping and grasping with quick deft strokes. He shifted behind Markus to place a kiss on Markus’ throat, murmuring soft little words at his ear before placing another kiss on his jaw line.  
  
His fingers were eager in their work, his other hand holding Markus, making the shorter man press his back against his chest, tugging faster, eliciting little groans from Markus’ lips. Markus’ breath picked up, and it was his turn to thrust into Lukas’ fist, trying to encourage the older man into getting it done quicker. His nerves prickled, rubbed raw, warmth spread, and his breathing hitched, twisting around to dig his head into the pillow, biting the fabric as a keen threatened to break from his lips.  
  
Lukas’ fingers moved slowly as Markus reached his peak, trying to make the orgasm long and lasting to Markus’ chagrin. He smiled against the sensitive skin of Markus’ throat as the cum flowed, his grasp not loosening from Markus’ dick until it was limp in his hand.  
  
Markus lifted his head from the pillow only when he was sure that Lukas was resting. He concentrated on calming his own breath and his accelerated heartbeat, breathing hard through his nose. Lukas shifted behind him, draping an arm over his waist and lightly tugging Markus closer, burying his lips on the back of Markus’s shoulders. Markus paid it no mind, but allowed himself to relax in Lukas’ arms, enjoying the feel of a warm body close by if only for the moment.  
  
“You’re really worth it, y’know,” Lukas mumbled against his flesh, words muffled.  
  
The youth kept his silence, deciding he could pretend he simply did not hear the words, but Lukas’ arms tightened around his waist, demanding an answer. Markus understood with the certainty that the sun would rise in the morning, that if he didn’t respond now, Lukas would fruitlessly repeat the words until they were met with a sign of his acknowledgement. Awkwardly, Markus answered with a soft, “Thank you,” at a loss on what he could say.  
  
“Ah, I’m sorry,” the words were matched by Lukas shifting again behind him, separating their bodies just enough so he could look down at Markus’ face, “I didn’t mean to, ah, make you uncomfortable, I’m just glad I get to be with you...” his gaze bounced away, looking at the foot of the bed, cheeks tinted bright red.  
  
Markus hesitated before he nodded, pressing his back against Lukas to calm the older man, biting back a smile when Lukas hummed in pleasure, wrapping his arms around Markus.  
  
Eventually the older man’s excuses for remaining grew weaker, even to his own ears. Time trickled by and he seemed to become reluctant to allow Markus to leave. His fingers twitched, his mouth opened and closed, but no word or sounds came out. A single shift from Markus had his grip tightening, his lips pressing against the back of Markus’ shoulders, murmuring softly under his breath. Markus allowed it; more because he was afraid of the mournful look Lukas would spare him than a strong desire to stay in Lukas’ arms. He could afford to wait, he had decided, as Lukas held his silence. It was early enough, business could wait, and Lukas seemed to enjoy his touch to a degree that was almost astonishing.   
  
“It’s late, I’m expected elsewhere and I apologize, truly, I do—and I’m incredibly grateful for your time—it—it was...”  
  
Lukas blushed, and Markus found himself biting back a smile. He had to look away from Lukas to avoid the grin from spreading across his lips.  
  
“I understand.”  
Still, Lukas did not move, hovering before the Markus with an indecisiveness and yearning that was amusing to behold. Lukas had dressed hurriedly, with jerky movements that had left his clothes in disarray. It had taken several of Markus’ small smiles for Lukas to finally figure out that his jacket was inside-out, and several more before he noticed that the knot of his tie could use some work. It could have been that Lukas was largely distracted—he kept trying to crane his head or angle his view so he could glimpse Markus resting naked on the bed.  
  
When Markus finally rose from the bed, dragging the sheet with him for a false sense of modesty, Lukas had pointedly insisted that Markus not get dressed. Puzzling, but Markus allowed it, reminding himself that the meeting was drawing to a close, being hasty would only ensure a lengthier departure.  
  
“I...” Lukas eyes were bright, there was a slight tremor in his hands and his voice when he spoke, “I paid this room for the night, and...”  
  
Markus stood his ground, trying to look patient and attentive. When Lukas blushed again, he averted his gaze.  
  
“And you don’t have to, but I thought you could use some rest, and there’s a breakfast, ah, ticket...? For the restaurant here you could use tomorrow morning, and—you don’t have to worry about anything, the room is paid in full with everything else—and I told them I’d be bringing a, ah, cousin, so you can just tell them that if they ask you.”  
  
A single brow was arched in answer.  
  
“I mean, ah, that’s if you want to, of course.”  
  
“I can’t—I can’t accept—”  
  
“No, no—I’ll be paying you in full, I just thought that I might as well...? No strings attached, really, I’d just—I’d like to—tonight’s been really great and you are really great and... Will you? Use the room I mean?”  
  
Markus hesitated, thoughts swirling, frowning, before he relaxed his expression and nodded. “Thank you,” he added, almost as an afterthought.  
  
Lukas’ expression turned glowing—smiling from ear to ear and breathing out in relief, “That’s great,” he said, voice low, “I’m glad you—good.”  
  
There was an awkward shuffle as Lukas struggled to make himself depart, and Markus shuffled in his wake. When Lukas finally reached the door, he paused there, breathing a huge sigh, before turning to face Markus, his gaze bouncing from wall to wall.  
  
“May I, ah, have a kiss?”  
  
Lukas wasn’t the only one surprised to feel lips pressing against his own. What possessed Markus at that exact moment, he wouldn’t have been able to say. Something about the kind face, how gently he was being treated, or the reluctance Lukas seemed to have in parting. Regardless of rhyme or reason, Markus pushed himself to his toes so he could give Lukas a slow sweet kiss that left the older man’s head spinning. Lukas looked almost drunk when he drew back from Markus for breath, eyes wide with wonder.  
  
They did not speak another word. Lukas grinned and nodded, letting his fingers rest lightly against the flesh of Markus’ face for a few breaths before he drew back—eyes never leaving Markus. When he stumbled against the far back wall of the hallway he flashed a goofy smile and stumbled away, leaving Markus shaking his head at the doorway.


	5. Ivory Bedsheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extras

Lazy contentment filled Markus’ chest as skilled hands and deft fingers kneaded the muscles of his back. Eyes half-closed, he sighed in bliss, stretching over the ivory bed sheets just enough so that he could better accommodate the soft yellow pillow under his chin. In this state, he could almost say he enjoyed the company.

“Is that better?” Lukas’ voice floated from somewhere behind Markus’ ear, shy, and nervous, and eager all at once.

“Mmyeah,” Markus’ voice was muffled by the pillow, but its effect was not dampened because of it. Lukas gave a little hum of pleasure, moving the slightest bit over Markus’ back to place a sloppy wet kiss along the side of his throat.

Markus leaned against him, his muscles too relaxed by Lukas’ treatment to voice any protest.

“Can we go again?” his voice hadn’t changed, but his motive was crystal clear–he was pressing himself against Markus’ back, his fingers rubbing circles on Markus’ shoulders.

Markus considered but only briefly; Lukas was awkward and eager, but always tried to please Markus. It wouldn’t do to begrudge him another round, especially when he knew full well that Lukas would try his best to provide a proper recompense.

“You’re asking for a lot of favors today,” Markus remarked, but the slight upturn to his lips suggested a jive.

Lukas flashed an embarrassed smile, cheeks reddening, “Have to celebrate that raise now, don’t I?”


End file.
